


All That We Do

by Desdimonda



Category: StarCraft
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:24:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tassadar was an Executor; revered, idolized and a young prodigy among the protoss. His life seemed set; his purpose, resolute. All until the day he came upon the zerg. The zerg changed them all. Where the terrans were seen as nothing but their opposite, their enemy, a band of them had become his allies. He had disobeyed a direct order of genocide in favour of trying to help save what terrans remained on Mar Sara. And for Tassadar, the biggest surprise of all was when he stood before a Dark Templar, and listened. They came to blows, but Zeratul would not fight back. In time they developed respect, then alliance, trust, friendship, and eventually, more than either would ever have believed. Now Tassadar and Zeratul are returning home to Aiur to face the Conclave, their judgement, and to try and save Aiur from the unforgiving zerg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [我们所做的一切](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4461233) by [lxzhii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxzhii/pseuds/lxzhii)



> Set during Starcraft, after Tassadar defeats a cerebrate and Artanis’s fleet come to arrest him and take him home.

Gantrithor was as much his home as Aiur. It’s walkways responded to his presence, lighting up as he moved, opening, shifting, bending to his will. It spoke to him, just like Aiur did. There was something about being in Gantrithor, surrounded by the endless black of space that made Tassadar feel at peace. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel at peace on Aiur with the song of the Khala at it’s loudest, at it’s most melodic. It was a different kind of peace when he soared the skies.The Khala was quieter when he took to his ship. There were his crew,  the nearby ships and colonies that contributed, but it was the melody without the harmony; the soprano alone without the alto. He used to lament for the Khala and Aiur after long times spent in the skies with his crew, but these days, he was missing it less. New horizons lay before him now, new trials, new friends.

Tassadar leaned against the window of his cabin, his feet heavy on the floor. All his energy had been expended, but the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. All of his energy that remained was in the Khala, speaking with his people, seeking their guidance. There were few answers; most of what met his words was silence, heavy, lingering, unwanted. He spread a hand across the glass, staring at his faint reflection.

_Where did we go so wrong? Are we truly so blind to our own failings?_

The ship shuddered, it’s thrusters powering up slowly. She had taken damage, and it would be at least a day until their warp drive was ready to jump to Aiur, and to his fate. He was ready, he thought. There was a linger of doubt that refused to leave, that he could not quell. Should he simply take his punishment without question? Whatever their judgement, he was ready to react. They hated him now. Once an Executor of highest regard, he now stood as a renegade templar, wielding powers of both the light and the dark. There had only been one before him who had done such a feat; Adun. And now, there was Tassadar. 

He turned over his hand, flexing his fingers to a fist. The powers of light soared through him, mixing with the song of dark, and he had never felt more complete. Gone was his status as Executor; now stood a being of Templar and Nerazim. He was proud - well - he tried to be. There were few who felt as he did. His crew did, mostly. They tried to understand, and that was enough for Tassadar. They were faithful to him and believed in his choices; he had chosen well. But even with the support of his crew, every hour, countless times, he heard his name spoken in the Khala. ‘Traitor!’, ‘Blasphemer!’ they spoke, unashamed. Rarey there were words of support, of understanding, but they were shadowed by the anger, by the hatred for his name. He leant forward on the glass, closing his weary eyes.

_All I do, I do for Aiur._

For Aiur. For the Khala. For his people. And if that meant stepping beyond the narrow path that his people had never strayed from for so many years, then that is what it must be. He glanced to his arm, where a thick, deep scar sat as a memory of his Shadow Walk. He drew a finger along it, remembering the trials fondly. He hadn’t faced anything as dangerous in his life; except the Zerg, of course. He flexed his hand, remembering the feeling that had seared through his body and mind as he had passed; at that moment, he had beheld silence. There had been no voices, no Khala, nothing but himself. At that moment there existed only Tassadar. It had unsettled him. He had never known a feeling like it, and he still couldn’t decide if it was right. When Zertaul had taken his hands and embraced him in congratulation, that had felt right.

He had grown up being told both were wrong. Unity is strength, solace is blasphemy and seek a woman as a partner, to strengthen the Khala and further our people. Tassadar had never judged those for whom they took as a partner, as a friend, as a lover, as nothing more than a nights passing. For who were he to judge anyone? There were many who believed they stood in a position to do so, and it was those that still looked upon Tassadar with disdain. It was those that still called for his judgement, for a trial, and some even called for his head. But none of them knew of that which felt right to Tassadar; they knew of Zeratul, of course. The blasphemer. The dark one. The betrayer. Zeratul had heard it all; and Tassadar hurt for him every time they spoke ill of his name.

And now they were returning once more to Aiur, to home; together.

The ship shuddered again and began to slowly move forward. They would drift in this sector for a day until they were ready to jump. Tassadar was glad for the delay. A day for himself. A day to stall the confrontation with the Conclave. He sat back onto his bed, the sheets crisp and unused. He hadn’t slept properly for days. Instead he had spent hours beneath the moon, the sun, soaking up it’s energies so he could assist in the fight against the zerg. But by the Khala, it was endless. They were endless. Was there ever going to be end? Retracting his claws, he slipped off his gauntlets, taking extra care with the one given to him by Zeratul, and set them by his bed. Piece by piece he began to remove his armour. It weighed heavy today, especially on his shoulders.

The voices quieted in his head to almost nothing but a whisper; a peace descended. In tandem, the lights of his quarters dimmed as the shadow appeared.

And from it, stepped Zeratul.

Tassadar didn’t turn to greet his fellow, there was no need for the formality. He continued to remove his armour, unclipping his pauldrons slowly.

‘There is a quiet within you,’ said Zeratul, standing before Tassadar. He gently pulled his hands off his armour and retracting his own claws, resuming what he made Tassadar stop.

‘I never thought my return home would cause me such…pain,’ he said, closing his eyes with the last of his words. Zeratul’s touch was smooth, soft, careful. He knew the pride a warrior took in their armour. Zeratul, less so. He prefered a casual demeanour with the boon of freedom, of flexibility. But he did not look down upon those who favoured armour like Tassadar’s; there was no shame in what one chose to wear.

Tassadar relaxed as Zeratul lifted off his remaining pauldron. The Nerazim set it by the neat pile on the floating bedside table before sitting next to Tassadar on the bed. Both were silent, bathed in the dimmed lights of his cabin. Zeratul was first to speak.

‘You have surpassed what they could never be. Through their anger seeps envy,’ said Zeratul, resting a hand on Tassadar’s thigh. It was still armoured with the exquisite golden metal, detailed with his Executor heraldry. He glanced to the table where the removed pieces sat. The gauntlet he had given Tassadar upon passing his Shadow Walk sat by itself, etched in the heraldry of his homeworld.

‘Do you truly think it is envy? They are so blinded by their traditions, so bound by their customs that anything - anyone - that steps beyond them is wrong.’ He stared at Zeratul’s hand, placed gently on his leg. It would stay there until he gave permission, until he touched him back, he knew. Zeratul had always let Tassadar have the thread of control. Only when he was ready would they take the next step; only when he was comfortable would he pursue. Freedom and individuality was what Zeratul knew; Tassadar had to learn to trust what he desired, and not be afraid to be who he was; not what he was.

Zeratul spoke, interrupting his thoughts. ‘You have become something they cannot, if they do not change. With envy comes anger, with anger comes blindness. We must help them see.’

Tassadar brushed his hand over Zertaul’s, then began to unfasten the armour on his legs. Zeratul shifted to his knees and helped remove the armour. Tassadar laughed gently.

‘I am quite capable of removing my own armour, Zeratul,’ he said as he ran his hands over the thick braids that hung at the side of the Nerazim’s face. The tips were adorned with intricate metal clamps, similar to the ones that were on the end of his severed appendages. He always admired the beautiful detail carved in the clamps; swirls that echoed the shapes of Zeratul’s armour, some held words of the Nerazim. He held one between his thumbs; it was new. He looked between his armour and the clamp; the detailing matched.

Zeratul removed the last of Tassadar’s armour; all that remained was the cloth that hung from his waist. Tassadar rolled the clamp between his thumbs.

‘It matches my armour,’ he said quietly.

‘I shall remove it if it makes you uncomfortable,’ said Zeratul, clasping his hand.

Tassadar shook his head. ‘No - no,’ he said, interlocking their fingers. ‘You honour me with the gesture.’

Zeratul held both his hands atop Tassadar’s lap. He looked up at his lover, watching the blue hue of his eyes flicker. ‘It is a simple token of you, and your presence in my life.’

There was a decadent quiet; a peace between them only they understood. The only thing Tassadar could hear at that moment was Zeratul. He had trained hard to keep himself separate from the Khala at their most intimate moments; he couldn’t risk others reading his thoughts, seeing into their intimacy and exposing what they shared. But right now, he didn’t even have to try, because Zeratul had his all.

‘I want to thank you,’ began Tassadar, gliding his thumbs along the prelate’s hands. Zeratul waited patiently as Tassadar talked. ‘We have treated you are your kind with such…disdain. Such nearsighted mistrust and prejudice - and yet - you return with me and my people back to the place that banished your kind.’ He spoke slowly, kindly. He could hear the hum of the Khala return; his strength was waning.

‘Our responsibility to Aiur has never left us, even if we are no longer welcome to step upon its land,’ said Zeratul.

Tassadar freed his hands and began to unfasten the mask Zeratul wore. The deep purple material was soft to touch, detailed with the crest of the Nerazim. Tassadar let the purple silk cascade over his hand and slide to his bed. Zeratul leant into Tassadar’s touch; it rippled along his face, pressing along the grooves of his skin, the small spikes of his crest and the curve of his brow.

‘It still pains you,’ said Tassadar, leaning forward until their foreheads met, gently. ‘To return to a home that can never be.’

‘My home is where I make it,’ said Zeratul as he watched the hue of Tassadar’s eyes shift to a deep, dark blue. Zeratul slowly rose from his knees and glanced to the door. ‘And we are no longer alone.’

‘I know,’ said Tassadar, withdrawing his hands as he felt the quiet dissipate. The noise, the words of the Khala almost overwhelmed him as it returned abruptly. Was he truly so devoid of energy that he could no longer keep the words at bay? A polite knock on his door interrupted them. It was unnecessary. A High Templar, Rika, eager to rise to Praetor had already announced his impending arrival through the Khala. Tassadar knew it would only be a matter of moments before he would step inside after the small grace period to gather oneself had passed; he was polite enough to grant him such.

‘You should sleep. I can feel your exhaustion. You must rest before… whatever will meet us when we arrive,’ said Zeratul, glancing warily at the door.

‘We will face it together, Zeratul.’

Tassadar stood from the bed and passed Zeratul his mask, letting their touch linger as a last goodbye before he slipped away into the slither of shadow from where he came.


	2. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeratul paces the halls of Gantrithor, awaiting their return to Aiur. He seeks a friend who has taken solace on the ship as he waits, as Rika brings news from Tassadar and Artanis.

Zeratul walked the corridors of Gantrithor, keeping to the shadows, rarely letting the others see him pass. His fellow Nerazim kept mostly silent and invisible, sticking together in their allocated space. Tassadar ordered his crew to let them go wherever on the ship they felt comfortable, but many of them had barely been seen. Tassadar had granted Zeratul the Gantrithor’s second in command quarters; but he had quickly let him know it was just a formality.

‘You do not have to sleep alone tonight,’ said Tassadar, hooking Zeratul’s thumb with his. He knew Tassadar had wanted to embrace him, hold him tight like when they were alone. But he couldn’t, not here, not before anyone. Their hands though were shielded from their company, just long enough to grant them a stolen moment.

‘Call for me, and I will come,’ said Zeratul, watching Tassadar tilt his head to the side in that way it did when he was happy.

He had not called yet; but it was still early. It had been but a few hours since he had left his quarters, requesting he sleep. Rika had walked the hallways since Zeratul’s departure; he hoped Tassadar rested well. The weight of Aiur, of the entirety of their race rested on his shoulders. He stood between the Khala and the Nerazim; between the light and the dark, and was hated for it. Zeratul curled a hand to a fist; it made him seethe with anger. There was little that unsettled his demeanour; he could be still his temper better than most; he could quell his emotions well. But when it came to Tassadar, everything changed.

His cloak shifted as he waved open the door to the common hall. A quiet descended as he stepped inside. There were more people inside than he wished, but he saw the one he sought; the one who stuck out amongst them all; Raynor. Templars ceased talking as he walked by and they stared, unashamed. A few of his brethren were here, sitting aside from the others, separate and alone. He gave them a nod of recognition and they repeated the gesture to their prelate.

Raynor was hunched over a flask of terran whisky, alone, his pistol sat on the table, the safety latch off, ready to fire. He was filthy; splatters of blood, protoss, terran and zerg still stained his skin where his armour had broken. And an an angry, deep welt cut through his forearm. None of it seemed to bother him, nothing did except taking another drink. Zeratul slid onto the stool opposite Raynor, clasping his hands. His claws were still retracted.

‘Do you not wish to be with your people?’ asked Zeratul, watching him take another swig from the flask.

‘Who even are my people any more?’ he said with a slur, setting down the flask. ‘A got the dominion on my ass.’ He paused and stared out the tall windows, bare into deep space. ‘And Kerrigan.’

‘The Kerrigan you knew is no more, Jim Raynor,’ said Zeratul as Raynor took another drink.

Jim smirked.‘You ain’t wrong.’ He emptied the flask and slid it aside, leaning forward onto the table that was hovering without support, like most protoss structures. ‘To answer your original question - your protoss buddies - or well, Tassadar’s protoss buddies are fixing up my armour. It got badly roughed up back there,’ said Raynor, motioning behind him with his thumb. ‘Thought I’d come along for the ride.’

‘We have no food nor water,’ said Zeratul. He glanced to the door as Rika entered, tall and proud. He glided across the floor with ease, his psionic appendages twisted with golden silk. They hung past each shoulder, rather than in unison from the top of his head; there was a thrive for individuality within him; Zeratul could feel it.

Raynor shrugged, screwing the top onto his flask. ‘I got a few bottles of whisky and water with me. Maybe some bread. I can’t remember what I brought. Frankly, I don’t give a damn.’

‘We need you at your best, Raynor,’ said Zeratul as Rika approached. ‘Tassadar and I - we all have much to face when we return to Aiur. We need you.’

‘What d’ya want anyway Zeratul? I’m done with your lectures for today. And it ain’t even midday. Or it might be. I dunno.’ Raynor leant back and stretched his arms, rolling the tension from his shoulders just as Rika paused by their table. ‘Great. More lectures.’

‘I am here for Zeratul, terran,’ said Rika, turning away from Raynor.

‘Fine by me,’ said Raynor.

Rika stared at Raynor, his pale blue eyes flickering.

‘What?’ said Raynor.

‘I am here for Zeratul,’ he repeated, ‘alone.’

Raynor smirked, grabbing his flask and pistol, but Zeratul halted his retreat, gripping his arm with his hand.

‘Whatever you have to say, Rika, you can say before Raynor and I. Tassadar holds this terran in the highest regard; he is an ally; he is a friend.’

Zeratul turned, his green eyes darkening as he stared at Rika; he had felt the words of the templar try and penetrate his mind. They lingered at the fringe of his psionic energies, but they were not strong enough to be heard.

‘You dare -’ seethed Zeratul.

Rika glided back a step, raising a hand in apology. ‘Prelate, I overstepped my bounds -’

Zeratul let go of Raynor’s arm, his claws extending in warning to the templar. ‘Speak,’ said Zeratul, simply.

Rika took a moment to compose himself before continuing. ‘I spoke with Tassadar earlier - it seems our warp drive may take more than a day to fix. The zerg were ruthless.’

‘We can use the Hyperion - she’ll be ready to go in a day,’ said Raynor.

Rika glanced at Raynor, but it was Zeratul who spoke.

‘Tassadar will not leave without Gantrithor,’ he said as Rika nodded.

‘Correct. And,’ he continued, ‘two of your...dark templars have informed us of a colony of your people at a nearby planet that could be of use to us on the battle on Aiur.’ Rika tried to speak with enthusiasm and without prejudice, but there was a quiver of insecurity in his words. Zeratul could feel it linger on his words and seep from his skin; but he said nothing. It would take time; not all had the vision that Tassadar beheld.

‘Have you informed Artanis?’ asked Zeratul, spreading his hand across the table. He retracted his claws; he felt Rika relax as he did, the hue of his eyes lightening.

‘He has agreed. Aiur needs all the help we can bring,’ said Rika, clasping together his hands.

‘And Tassadar?’ said Zeratul.

‘He says we move on your order.’

Zeratul glanced away from his company, trying to hide the inevitable shift of his eyes. Tassadar trusted him absolute; with his decisions, with his life. Zeratul knew he should be honoured, that he should be happy that another held such trust in him, and that, that other was Tassadar. But to be held in such highest regard was something he was still trying to get used to. But he could not deny the sense in this plan; they needed people; people they could trust.

‘Set course for the colony,’ said Zeratul. He felt himself settle and his eyes return to their normal hue.

Rika nodded. ‘We shall arrive by the morning.’

‘How do you lot even know what time it is on here?’ gestured Raynor. ‘I mean, we got clocks on the ol’ girl. You got floatin’ tables and shit here, but I ain’t seen a clock.’

‘Within the Khala, we know all,’ said Rika, tilting back his head.

‘Right,’ said Raynor, holstering his pistol. ‘Just lemme know if you need me and my boys in the morning.’ He made to leave, but Zeratul stopped him.

‘Wait.’ He looked to Rika. ‘Leave us. I will inform Tassadar of my decision.’

Rika glided back a step. ‘I am sure you will,’ he said slowly, turned and left.

Zeratul grew uneasy at the feeling the emanated from his words; but he made sure Rika could not tell. He turned back to Raynor who had one leg to the floor, waiting for Zeratul to speak.

‘Well?’ said the terran, seemingly eager to leave.

‘It is about Kerrigan,’ began Zeratul, keeping his voice low.

‘Ain’t it always,’ said Raynor, leaning forward on the table.

‘Your desire is to kill her, is it not?’

Raynor scratched his head as Zeratul waited. He would wait as long as was needed; he could feel the turmoil within his friend and the pain that consumed him, on the battlefield and off. Kerrigan was his love; and although she lived, she was gone.

At last, Raynor spoke. ‘I always told her I’d do all I could to save her - and I ain’t never going back on that word. But if she keeps goin’ the way she’s goin’...’

‘There is much we have to decide; many steps we have to take on the different paths that lay before us… but within me… I cannot shake a feeling that Kerrigan must live.’

Raynor smirked and set a hand on Zeratul’s arm. ‘Thanks for the support buddy, but if we get the chance, you know your protoss brothers ain’t gonna pass it up.

Zeratul nodded, closing his eyes. It had been days since he had meditated, and he was suffering. ‘My instinct has rarely failed me, Raynor, but my mind weighs heavy, my soul, my body too. We have nothing to do but to wait now; we should take this time to rest, my friend.’

Raynor patted Zeratul’s hand and pocketed his hip flask before sliding off the suspended stool. ‘At last you’re talkin’ some sense, buddy.’ Raynor began to walk away. ‘Night, Zeratul. Or whatever time it is,’ he said with a wave as he left.

Zeratul glanced around the room, surveying his kin. The high templars either ignored him, or stared at him with disdain, their eyes almost turning black with mistrust. Most of Tassadar’s crew had tried to accept the dark energies of their former executor, but to accept the Nerazim back with open arms back to Aiur? Over a thousand years of hatred, of exile were being pushed aside over a matter of months.But there was no other way; they had to unite.

He left the common room and headed for his temporary quarters to meditate, all the while listening for Tassadar’s call. 


	3. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zeratul returns to his quarters to meditate and relives a memory.

The quarters Zeratul had been given felt cold and unfamiliar. They looked like Tassadar’s and Zeratul could feel his presence nearby, but he could not ease his discomfort. He knew it was from the heavy, lingering veil of the Khala all around him. He hadn’t even stepped upon Aiur yet and he could feel it weigh upon him. Even with his appendages severed, the noise was making him restless and uncomfortable; he needed to meditate now more than ever.

Slowly, he began to undress. Piece by piece he took off his armour with care. He didn’t wear as much as Tassadar, but it still took time. Zeratul had often meditated nude when alone. He always preferred freedom - in all the aspects of his life. He often traveled alone, without the responsibility of others. He held the position of Prelate, but Raszagal had favoured for him to take over when her time would come. Zeratul wavered at her insistence; he was honoured, truly honoured that she would even think he were worthy to stand where she did. But the higher one stood, the smaller ones freedom seemed to be.

Zeratul spread his armour across the bed; he preferred to use the floor for meditation, the ground, and if he was fortunate, the water. Zeratul loved to swim, but his access to lakes and rivers was limited on Shakuras. Tassadar had promised to take him to the hot springs on Aiur upon their return; both of them knew it would never happen with the zerg there, but neither had said a thing.

The last thing he removed was the purple mask he wore, silk, soft to the touch. He glided his fingers over it; it still smelled of Tassadar. Zeratul sat on the floor slowly as the lights in his cabin dimmed with his movements. He adjusted his legs for comfort, crossing them as he splayed his hands atop his thighs. It was little things that helped him; darkness, the lull of water, wearing nothing, and the feel of skin on skin. He had meditated with Tassadar once - the night before his Shadow Walk.

* * *

 

They had slipped away in the shadows past the night’s watch when their camp had descended to sleep. Protoss benefited from sleep like terran’s did, but did not need it daily. The suns, the moons, the energies of space and the Khala fed them and replenished their energies in the way food and water did for terrans. But with most things for protoss, everything lasted longer.

Tassadar was sat between Zeratul’s legs, his back pressed against the Nerazim’s chest. They were beneath a large, draping tree, with branches that extended for fifty feet. The leaves were purple, tipped with blue, and the stalks of the tree were green. Insects native to the planet - Gith - hovered around them, their low buzzing never stopped, granting them a constant melody.

‘I have meditated before, Zeratul,’ said Tassadar, drawing his fingers along Zeratul’s bare thigh.

‘Your meditation is for the Khala - to immerse yourself further within, so you can understand it better,’ said Zeratul with a steady voice. He could sense the restlessness within his companion. ‘We meditate for ourselves.’

‘Let us do it together,’ said Tassadar, turning around to look at Zeratul. The Nerazim’s green eyes flickered as he spoke.

‘Meditation is a solitary practice -’

Tassadar turned and knelt before Zeratul, pushing aside his long psionic tendrils. He had twisted a sliver of Zeratul’s purple silk through them this morning; Zeratul had advised him to remove it; Tassadar had laughed, telling him that the only person that cared enough to look that close was Zeratul. He almost told him to remove it once more, just to hear him laugh again.

‘You have never meditated with another?’ asked Tassadar.

Zeratul watched the templar; he was still restless. His hands played with Zeratul’s thick braids, his fingers grazing his skin, touching the grooves of his forehead, clumsily.

‘I have - several times. You forget how old I am.’ Zeratul stilled Tassadar’s restless touch with his own.

‘I am ready, Zeratul,’ he said, his voice a whisper, his eyes bright as the crest of his forehead, blue, shimmering beneath the rays of the planet’s three moons.

The Nerazim shifted, crossing his legs loosely; he motioned for Tassadar to follow. As the young templar moved, Zeratul could feel the shift in his presence. An aura of excitement, of nervous trepidation surrounded him; but deep within there was a surge of awe, of admiration and respect.

‘Bring yourself away from the Khala,’ said Zeratul, ‘as far as you can.’

For a while, Zeratul had watched the high templar begin his ritual. He had brought his appendages to his chest placing them close to his skin; the wisp of purple silk flickered in the cool night breeze. His hands were upturned, open, claws retracted, and he was as still as the tree they sat beneath. The Nerazim was impressed by his strength, by his inner resolve that resonated through his skin. It was music, it rippled in the air, it glided across Zeratul's skin.

But still, he could feel the Khala around them, heavier than before. Zeratul placed his hands atop Tassadar's, the tips of their fingers met.

Tassadar stirred and opened his eyes.

'You need to be further from the Khala. You need to be at peace', said Zeratul, gliding his thumbs across Tassadar's palms; they were warm to Zeratul's cool touch. Zeratul hesitated with his next words; he knew that Tassadar could hear the words if he wanted, but he never did. He never pressed Zeratul's mind unless it was a necessity, or their lives were in danger.

Still, Zeratul hesitated, and Tassadar waited. Zeratul's crest shifted to a deep, dark blue. Very few had witnessed that shift in his skin; and Zeratul hoped that Tassadar would be the last. 'When we...are close...intimate...there is nothing but silence, peace and us,’ he said. 'There needs to be nothing now, but you.'

Tassadar nodded; now was not the time for words. He closed his eyes and Zeratul felt the templar pull within him the energies that surrounded them. Their hands were still touching and with skin on skin, Zeratul could feel Tassadar use their connection to ground his energies. It stirred the same feeling within the Nerazim when Tassadar touched his neck, when he drew his fingers along the curve of his thigh. Zeratul's crest shifted in colour to that deep, decadent blue again, and the feeling within rippled across his skin.

‘Are you testing me, Zeratul?’ said Tassadar, quietly, not breaking their hold, nor opening his eyes.

‘A moment of weakness befell me,’ he said, quickly steadying his resolve. There was little that stirred him, that changed him - except Tassadar. ‘Resume.’

‘As you will.’

The Khala lightened, the air grew thin. The strength of the templar filled the air instead, humming with a soothing rhythm. All other sound disappeared; the hiss of the insects dissipated, the breeze that carried the leaves stilled. Hours passed as they sat beneath the tree, still, silent, connected as one. Only as the suns began to rise did they break from their meditation and open their eyes in unison.

The suns were cresting over the horizon, their rays crowning Tassadar’s head. Zeratul drew a hand down Tassadar’s face. ‘You are ready,’ he said, ‘Today you will walk,  you will be one of us. Today, you will be complete.’

Tassadar leant into Zeratul’s touch, his crest shimmering violet. ‘I already am.’

* * *

 

Zeratul was pulled from his trance with a start; he could hear a call. Tassadar’s call. But it was intelligible, the words were staggered and frantic, and fuelled by fear. He stood, shifted to the shadows and left his room. The lights of the corridor were dim; they reacted to the presence of the protoss as was necessary, and they could not sense Zeratul.

The call was louder as he approached; it pained him.

_I come, Tassadar. Be still, I come for you._

Zeratul pressed a hand on Tassadar’s door and it opened to his touch. Still cloaked, he stepped inside as the door hissed shut. He searched for Tassadar, unsure of what to expect. The templar was sat upright, shaking, both hands pressed tight to his crest which shifted colour, from red to almost black, unsteady, wavering, like his mind.

‘Zeratul,’ cried Tassadar extending a hand to the air. The Nerazim shifted from the shadows, kneeling before his lover on the bed. He clasped his hand, placing it on his face, letting Tassadar begin to ground himself, just like that night on Gith.

‘I am here,’ said Zeratul as Tassadar clung to the Dark Templar. His hands slid across Zeratul’s skin, still bare from his meditation. He hadn’t retracted his claws, and they nicked his flesh, but Zeratul didn’t care.

‘It - it was all over. Aiur was gone, Shakuras destroyed. We - we were no more - you were dead - we were all dead. There was nothing. Nothing.’ He spoke frantic, broken words. Zeratul listened and held Tassadar close, giving his lover the comfort he needed. Soon, they would hear. Soon, they would come.

‘It was a dream is all,’ said Zeratul, wrapping a hand around the tip of Tassadar’s tendrils. The High Templar felt a wave of tension fall from his shoulders from Zeratul’s hold. It was one of the most intimate moments between two protoss; only those they _love_ , those they trust _implicitly_ held their appendages as Zeratul did. Zeratul knew he didn’t have to ask; Tassadar’s skin, mind, eyes emanated the desire for his touch, and Zeratul obliged. Tassadar’s trembling subsided, and he shifted, pressing his forehead against the Nerazim’s.

‘Just a dream,’ said Tassadar. ‘But I know dreams. This - this - was _more_. A premonition. A warning.’

Zeratul glanced at the door. There was nowhere else he wanted to be, but it was the last place that he should be.‘They are coming to you, are they not?’

Tassadar shook his head. ‘I told them not to come.’

‘Even in your frantic state?’ asked Zeratul, his hand still holding the tip of his tendrils.

‘I only called for you.’

‘Your strength… is unique,’ said Zeratul, his crest glowing a faint yellow with pride, with happiness, with love.

Tassadar, his composure slowly returning, took Zeratul’s hand with his, their fingertips touching in unison. A faint hue of blue and green began to glow between their hands as their foreheads touched once more. ‘I would not be who I am today without you, Zeratul.’

‘All I have done is guide your path. You have taken the steps,’ he said as he felt Tassadar slide a hand along his thigh. ‘And you have demonstrated such power, such resolve I had not seen in all my years, Tassadar. You are unique. You might be the one to save us all.’

Tassadar drew his hand back up Zeratul’s bare thigh, and down, and up. ‘I do not want to bear this burden all myself.’ He paused, sinking his fingers into Zeratul’s taut skin. ‘Whatever lies before us, will we face it together?’

Zeratul pushed Tassadar gently back onto the decadent bed. He fell back with a soft thud, his eyes flickering with anticipation.

‘My life for Aiur,’ said Zeratul, leaning down close as he straddled Tassadar. ‘My life for you.’


	4. Friends and Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they prepare for their descent to the Dark Templar colony, they receive a distress call from below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, I am deviating a little from the original SC storyline to extend my story and to explore the world a little. I hope you do not mind that I am taking a little artistic license with the timeline of events. :)

Tassadar stirred, pulling himself from his half sleep, half meditation, hearing the voices of the Khala begin to return. They were talkative this morn, preparing to land on the Dark Templar colony. It had been almost a week since he had slept; it wasn’t uncommon for him or other protoss to go without for so long, but not with the amount of energy he had to spend in battle. His sleep had felt glorious; it was decadent and languid and all the more pleasant after the hours he and Zeratul had spent together in hedonistic pleasure.

And as he reached out an arm across his bed, it met the Nerazim’s back. Tassadar slid his fingers across the skin, settling his hand on the jut of Zeratul’s hip.

‘You stayed,’ said Tassadar, nuzzling against his lover’s back. His fingers patted along the curve of Zeratul’s thigh, tracing the thick, taut muscles that shaped his skin. Zeratul moaned quietly, relishing in their moment. There were few like this, and neither knew if there would be another like it.

‘I could not sleep knowing you were but a step away,’ said Zeratul, tilting back his head. The tip of his severed appendages brushed against Tassadar’s warm crest; Zeratul could feel it shimmer.

Tassadar slipped his hand between Zeratul’s legs, drawing his thumbs along the inside of his thighs, gently kneading the flesh. The Nerazim shifted in Tassadar’s embrace, writhing slowly against the Templar’s body. Tassadar pressed his crest against Zeratul’s shoulder; he smelled of sweat, sweet and husky, mixed with the tart leather of his armour.

‘When this is done,’ began Tassadar, pausing his hand on Zeratul’s thigh. His thumbs hooked the flesh as he talked, giving away the unease beneath his words. ‘Will every morning be by your side?’

Zeratul stared out beyond the window, to the black, star filled sky. Gantrithor hovered above their destination; a large, bluey green planet with swirling purple clouds, dotted sporadically across it’s surface. And still, he said nothing.

‘Zeratul?’ pressed Tassadar, his chin nuzzling against the warmth of his back. He knew Zeratul could feel the unease shift the air around them. It smothered their shared psionic connection and quivered Tassadar’s tendrils, the tip of which shimmered in echo of his crest, not visible to Zeratul; but he didn’t need to see it to know what stirred within his lover.

The Nerazim rested a hand atop Tassadar’s, stroking his thumbs. ‘Neither of us know what fate has in store for us, kwah-kai.’

Tassadar closed his eyes. ‘Does that mean I cannot pursue happiness where I find it?’

Zeratul turned to face his lover, sliding a hand across his face. Tassadar leant into his touch, his tendrils falling across Zeratul’s arm. ‘Fate waits for no-one. We could be here today, but tomorrow, alone.’

‘Must you be so morose, always,’ said Tassadar, playing with Zeratul’s braid.

Zeratul laughed. ‘I take each day as it comes. And if that day comes when we are free of our responsibilities, and all that remains for us is you and I.’ He paused and leaned forward, touching his crest against Tassadar’s. ‘I would happily spend each morning like this.’

Tassadar sighed, content. He nestled his head into the crook of Zeratul’s neck, feeling the swathe of arousal emanate from the prelate as they embraced. Tassadar responded eagerly, sliding a hand back between the prelate’s legs. His fingers brushed against his hard, scaled cock, just as a sharp rap on the door quelled their passion.

Tassadar reached to the Khala, seeking their guest that had arrived without notice. There was no answer; it was one of two. One of Zeratul’s fellow Dark Templar’s or -

‘Tass, buddy?’ called Raynor, his thick drawl still husky.

The Templar sunk his fingers into Zeratul’s back, wanting nothing more than to lie within his embrace, until the darkness took him. But that time was not now; their people needed them, their lives were for others, their lives were for Aiur.

‘I should leave and prepare myself and my people for our descent,’ said Zeratul as he slowly pulled away from Tassadar’s embrace. The young Templar gripped his wrist, halting his departure. Their gaze met, and they stared at one another in silence. They needed no words for their goodbye. Zeratul shimmered, disappearing before Tassadar’s eyes, in a way that had become so familiar to the Templar.

‘Tass? You there?’ said Raynor, rapping the door again.

Tassadar took hold of a loose robe and tied it about his waist. ‘Come,’ he called as he waved a hand. The door opened with a hiss, in tandem with the motion of his hand.

Raynor stepped inside, glancing to his right. He thought he saw something pass him by; but there was nothing. The door clicked shut, and he greeted the Templar with a smile.

Tassadar stood by the wide, open window of his quarters and stared at their destination; Rantoth. The Khala bustled with words, with preparation. They would leave soon; but not without Tassadar’s word. Rika called to him; he had news to discuss before their departure. But he suspected whatever had brought Raynor here was one and the same.

‘Morning, buddy. Sleep well? Or whatever it is you protoss do,’ said Raynor, glancing at Tassadar’s bed. The sheets were tangled, and the pillows splayed. He hadn’t slept alone.

‘We rest - something akin to your sleep - but not as often,’ he said idly, feeling the presence of Zeratul wain. ‘What did you come for, friend Raynor?’

‘To the point as always, Tass,’ said Raynor, joining Tassadar’s side. His hair fell into his eyes, messy and unwashed. The remnants of their last fight - blood and dirt - still lingered on his skin and clothes. A thick scent of sweat, smoke and alcohol lingered around him and grew stronger the longer the marine stood by his side.

Raynor cleared his throat, still hoarse from sleep. ‘The Hyperion picked up a distress call from below. A ghost and her team. My boys ain’t yet answered - that’s your call, buddy.’

Rika called to Tassadar again; he answered, listening to his second in command report. He echoed Raynor’s words. ‘Is she with the enemy you fight against?’

Raynor scratched his head as he stared out through the window and upon the planet where they would soon land. 'Most likely,' began Raynor. 'But so was Kerrigan. So were we all, once. People can change, and often we don't get to choose the orders we follow.'

‘I can see why Zeratul likes you,’ said Tassadar, his crest a light hue of yellow. 'Our allies are few, and we cannot afford any more loss,' said Tassadar in tandem to his words to Rika which were simply to wait. 'But we will answer her call.' He turned to face Raynor. 'Get the Hyperion to contact her and find out as much as you can, then report back to me.'

‘Roger that,’ said Raynor, nodding towards Tassadar. ‘Maybe if we save her ass she’ll work for us.’

‘One can only hope,’ he said quietly, staring at the planet they would soon be standing upon. ‘Why would a dominion ghost be upon a Dark Templar colony?’

Raynor shrugged. ‘I can get my boys to ask her what she’s up to before we offer help.’

‘Whatever you feel is right,’ said Tassadar slowly, resting a clawed hand on his arm.

‘You alright, buddy? I mean... I know there’s a lot to weigh you down lately,’ said Raynor, scratching his head again.

‘And you, friend Raynor,’ said Tassadar, the yellow hue on his crest fading. ‘We do not have the luxury to dwell on what makes our hearts heavy.’

‘Something’s gotta give,’ said Raynor with a sigh as he clicked his neck. ‘Or we ain’t gonna be no good to anyone.’

‘You will always have the support and friendship of Zeratul and I, Raynor,’ said Tassadar as he turned to the marshall.

Raynor smiled. ‘I’m glad you found some happiness amongst this shit, Tass.’

Tassadar’s crest shimmered a light red as Raynor spoke. Of course he knew. The terran had become an ally and close friend for both the protoss, and he was no fool. He understood their need for secrecy and discretion; and there was no room for judgemental eyes or words with Raynor. Much more than could be said for the majority of his fellow protoss.

‘It’s never where we expect to find it,’ said Tassadar, resting a hand on the window, his claws tapping gently on the glass.

‘You ain’t wrong,’ said Raynor as he idly clutched Kerrigan’s dog tags that hung from his neck, beside his own.

‘We will do what we can to return her to you,’ said Tassadar, kindly. ‘I have no desire to cause anymore unnecessary death. There has been…too much already.’

‘I’m worried that we’ve lost too much of her to the zerg already.’ Raynor tucked away her dog tags as he spoke, pushing back the tremor in his words. ‘I just want my girl back.’

Tassadar turned to his friend a set a hand on his shoulder, retracting his claws. ‘You will.’

‘I wish I shared your enthusiasm, buddy,’ said Raynor, wearily. He patted Tassadar’s hand before turning away. ‘I better get in touch with my boys and get suited for landing. I’ll report back about the ghost.’

‘Inform Zeratul. He will be with his fellow Nerazim,’ said Tassadar as he glided towards the stand where his armour sat, ready and waiting.

‘Yes’sir,’ said Raynor with a smile and salute as he left.

***

Zeratul tightened his bracer as he sat with his brethren. They were restless; nervous, but eager to meet more of their kind. All those that were not the enemy were needed and wanted; they were allies, and allies were now friends. Many had come to their prelate this morning seeking his wisdom and guidance. Many still felt uneasy upon Gantrithor, surrounded by those that had not so long ago called for their death for heresy. But now, by common enemy, they were allies. Hatreds had been pushed aside - but would they be forgotten? Or at the first sign of peace would those that still walked with the Khala turn their blades back onto the Nerazim?

While Tassadar lived, Zeratul knew they need not fear such a thing from his people. Those that stood with the once Executor, were loyal to him, and heeded his wisdom, however difficult is was to adjust. There was almost a thousand years of hatred between the followers of the Khala and the Nerazim, and Zeratul had seen six hundred of them. Tassadar, barely a few hundred himself, but he had the wisdom akin to Raszagal; akin to Adun.

Zeratul felt a wave of memory grip him; it almost overwhelmed him as the presence of Tassadar approached. Last night, as they lay bathed in the starlight, Zeratul had let Tassadar take control. It was rare for the Templar to be the dominant force in their intimacy; Zeratul thrived by being in control. When he watched Tassadar writhe beneath him in submission; when he heard him whimper in consenting subjugation, it drove the Nerazim wild. But there were moments when Tassadar longed to straddle Zeratul, to pin him against the floor and be the dominant one in their intimacy, just for that moment. The Nerazim closed his eyes, steadying the shift in his energy and stalling the colour change of his crest; but still, he let himself remember.

The way Tassadar had sunk his claws into Zeratul’s shoulder’s, along his chest, around his neck, pinning his body against the hard, cold floor. The way he hooked his hips with each thrust, tightly, pressing his face into Zeratul’s back, nuzzling against the taut skin and brushing against his severed appendages.

I can feel your desire from here, Zeratul.

The prelate opened his eyes and glanced across the bustling room, filled with protoss and one terran. He searched for Tassadar, but he could only feel his presence, not see it. He made to reply to the Templar, but Raynor had approached, rifle in hand, suited and booted.

‘She ain’t givin’ up anything ‘til we send help,’ said the marine, clicking open his visor.

‘I expected as much. Wouldn’t we act as such?’ said the Dark Templar, rising from the crate he was sat upon.

‘You ain’t wrong,’ said Raynor as he watched a throng of Templars board a shuttle.

‘Did she at least inform us of the enemy we face?’ asked Zeratul as he waved a hand to his fellow Nerazim to depart.

‘Yeah,’ started Raynor, his voice wary. ‘She mentioned the zerg, which was expected. But she said there were protoss attacking her too.’

Zeratul flexed his hands as they walked, taking in Raynor’s words.

There are hostile protoss below, called Tassadar.

I know. Raynor has just informed me. Could they be-

Tal’darim.

The Nerazim paused by a shuttle door, watching his kin prepare to depart and load onto the ship. Zerg. Terrans. Tal’ darim. An enemy from every side, even from within. Zeratul had always looked behind his shoulder; always kept his steps untraceable and silent. Was it even more imperative to do so now? At last, he saw Tassadar, standing beside Rika, gleaming in his gold and blue armour, resplendent, like the Executor he should be.

‘They may look like those that follow the Khala - but do not be fooled. These protoss are neither friend to Templar or Nerazim,’ said Zeratul before he ordered the shuttle to leave. One remained.

‘You know who they are?’

‘Have you heard of the Tal’darim?’ asked Zeratul as he walked towards Tassadar and Rika. They were accompanied by several of Tassadar’s higher ranking Templars, some of whom bristled at the approach of Zeratul.

‘Uhh, fill me in,’ said Raynor.

‘They are not of the Khala, but nor do they reject it as I or my fellows do. They worship the Xel’naga as we all do, but in ways that are far more zealous and beyond that which we conform to. Anyone who is not them, is the enemy. They are insular and solitary creatures. They may be protoss, but they are not us.’

‘It seems our own enemies are ourselves, often,’ said Raynor, standing by Zeratul as they reached the small group.

‘Wise words, friend,’ said Zeratul, his eyes flickering as he spoke.

‘Being around you lot must be rubbin’ off on me,’ he said, scratching his stubble.

Zeratul laughed quietly as Tassadar turned to them both.

‘Rika shall stay on Gantrithor with a handful of support,’ began Tassadar, his bright blue eyes shimmering as he spoke. ‘Are your kin ready, Zeratul?’

‘We are prepared, for whatever we might face.’

‘My boys are dropping two shuttles from the Hyperion for support and a pick up Medivac for the ghost and her team. We’re ready to move on your command,’ said Raynor.

‘Let us waste no more time. Stay safe brothers. For Aiur!’

‘En Taro, Adun!’ called Zeratul. The remaining Templars echoed their calls; Raynor clicked shut his visor and one by one they filed into the remaining shuttle to descend onto the planet below.

Zeratul was last to enter, and he walked behind Tassadar.

Slowly, he drew a clawed finger across the small patch of exposed skin on his back, feeling the tremble of desire ripple through their psionic connection.


End file.
